


Morning

by VickyVicarious



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Prompt Fic, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 13:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3769513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VickyVicarious/pseuds/VickyVicarious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Killian is a terrible person to sleep with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This should really be a part of my 'Shared Moments' collection, but I didn't want to mess with the ratings. If I end up writing any more smutty oneshots I'll probably turn this into a collection too.

**stomach kiss**

* * *

Killian is a terrible person to sleep with.

…Okay, so, to clarify, everything that doesn't involve actual sleep is fantastic, but once his head hits the pillow it all goes to hell. He can't stay still - he's always moving around, getting tangled up in the blankets and tugging them off of her, she's gotten feet to the gut and hands on her face and woken up teetering on the edge of the bed because he's gradually starfished himself, pushing her further and further out.

And honestly, it's ridiculous, because Emma has seen his old bed on the Jolly Roger, and there is no way he could have pulled this kind of crap there and not gotten covered in bruises every damn night, but somehow he's always genuinely surprised to hear each new gripe she meets him with every morning.

He's better when he's holding on to something… but cuddles aren't Emma's thing, not all night long at least. She gets hot too easily and usually wakes up in the middle of the night feeling sweaty and gross, but of course Killian feels somehow personally offended by the idea of getting a body pillow to latch onto instead, and so Emma's stuck in a regular cycle of harsh wakeups.

It's quite a surprise, then, to sleep the whole night through and wake feeling rested and comfortable, neither overheated or freezing. For a moment she almost wonders if she just dreamed Killian staying over last night - especially because when she opens her eyes there's no immediate sign of anyone else in her room.

And then she feels it: a soft, ticklish brush of warmth against her stomach. Emma blinks, and lifts the covers to peer down at her body. Sure enough, there he is – completely buried under the comforter, right arm resting low over her waist and his head itself resting half-on his left arm, half-on her hip. He's so still that she didn't even notice he was there.

His hair is ridiculously tousled and when the light hits him he nuzzles in closer to her, scruff lightly scraping against her stomach.

"Nhmm," he mumbles, wiggling a little closer, and his knees must be up to his chest just to keep him from falling off the bed and his lower lip catches and drags across her skin a little, and Emma is caught between a rush of warm fondness and hot sparks.

"Killian," she whispers. His hand slips down a little, tightens on her hip. "Killian, wake up."

This time, the mumble sounds a bit like, "no."

She reaches down and slides her fingers through his hair, loving the feel of it, thick and soft and messy. Killian makes this happy little groan – it gets louder when she gives his head a sharp little yank.

"Come on, get up," she says, "I can't move."

"Don't, then," he suggests, voice rough and lips brushing warm against her bare skin with just the barest hint of wetness – Emma shivers.

Killian pauses for a moment, then his thumb starts to rub softly against her hip, and his lips start moving again, pressing soft and warm and ticklish little kisses against her belly, over and over.

"Oh no," Emma says, "don't you –" and then Killian dips his tongue into her bellybutton for an  _evil_  second, and her voice cuts off and her hand clenches in his hair and she makes this awful little whine behind her teeth.

Killian lifts his head just enough to meet her eyes. He's shifting now, getting his knees under him, and he's definitely awake now – his eyes are gleaming, catching and holding hers.

"Don't move, Swan," he repeats slowly, with a wicked smirk… and then bends his head to start kissing her again, soft and light and low on her belly but not low _enough_ , with his thumb still rubbing steady circles against the hollow of her hip, and she isn't moving, she's holding as still as she physically  _can_ –

_Damn it_ , Emma's thinking, breath shuddering out slow between her lips as she lets her head drop back into the pillow. This is ridiculous, she should be getting up, getting breakfast, heading in to work but then Killian starts working his way  _up_ , bit by bit, kissing the curve of her breasts with agonizing slowness, and – and then his hand on her hip grips  _tight_ , his mouth closes hot and wet over her aching nipple and Emma's shivering, whimpering, shaking beneath him with one hand clutched tight into the blanket and the other trembling in his hair, and she's already forgotten everything else.

He takes his time, first one breast then the other and by the end of  _that_ , Emma's openly panting, catching little moans in her throat whenever she can (trying to keep  _quiet_ ) but he's not done yet, his hand slips down first, circling slow and gentle and  _agonizing_  as his lips trail their way back down her body. Stops at her stomach  _again_ , just kissing her so softly, and she grits his name out between her teeth, a warning.

He laughs quietly and finally, finally,  _finally_  dips down further, closing his lips round her clit and  _sucking_  and the room whites out a little just from that. It doesn't take long, then – Emma's strung out already, shaking and wet enough that she can hear little  _slurps_  every time Killian licks, and ( _fuck_  if that doesn't just amplify it even more) it doesn't take long at all.

He crawls up to meet her at the pillow, and the kiss that they share is sweet and slow and open and afterwards Emma can barely keep her eyes open.

"Good morning," Killian grins, resting his forehead against hers, and – for all that she's still shaky from her orgasm and every new touch of his skin on hers is a small electric shock… the fondness wins out.

"Good morning," Emma whispers back, and knows she's grinning too, and knows she wants to share her bed with this man for the rest of their lives even if most mornings are far more likely to involve her waking up smothered or freezing or bruised, simply because this is the man she wants, terrible to sleep with and wonderful to 'sleep' with and all.

(Okay, so it's more than just fondness.)


End file.
